


Wisteria and Heather

by deekaypea



Category: Original Work, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23936077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deekaypea/pseuds/deekaypea
Summary: *This work contains spoilers for the Witcher: Wild Hunt.This work takes place after the coronation of Cerys an Craite.*Reina is a long way from home; she's travelled across worlds to arrive on an island to the West of Temeria, even farther than the Skellige isles. Her dark life, her imprisonment in Dovir's castle, is about to change, with the arrival of a strange and mysterious witcher. Meeting Geralt of Rivia sends Reina on an even greater journey than she'd ever anticipated.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Original Character/Other(s)
Kudos: 19





	1. King Dovir's pet

The blow came fast across my face, his ring catching my lip, and not for the first time. I was quite positive that he struck me with his ringed hand on purpose, the blood on the stone of his heritage a reminder of his power and my perceived impotence. I did not sprawl or stagger, but I stepped back, against the wall, the sound of his hand striking me echoing in the small confines of the stone hallway. 

“You’ve yet to learn your place, Cort’esa.”

Spit hit my cheek and I prepared for another blow when a call came from the top of the stairs.

“Cort’esa, the King requires your presence.”

I met the eyes of my attacker as we both looked from the stairway to one another. I used my sleeve to clean my face of blood and saliva and stated “Duty calls. Until next time, your Highness.” Then I picked up the hem of my skirt and made my way up the stairs. I felt his glare on my back the entire way, and allowed myself a small smile. It faded as his words followed me.

“Until next time indeed, Cort’esa…”

My lip was swollen and still oozing blood when I entered the hall, but King Dovir had stopped noticing or caring--if he ever had cared--how I was treated within his walls. I took a few deliberate steps to his side and settled myself on the steps of the raised dais.

As I turned my attention away from the King, I finally noticed the stranger, whom Dovir was speaking to. In the muted glow of the hall’s hearth fires and intermittent candles, his hair seemed to glow with a golden light. Under the light of the sun, I knew it would be white, though he did not appear that old. He looked like a fighter, a warrior with two swords strapped to his back. He stood out in the hall with his strange coloured hair.

 _Like me._ I thought.

The stranger’s eyes flicked to me as I entered, then back to Dovir, who was still speaking as if I hadn’t entered, interrupting himself with swallows of ale from his goblet.

“I suppose you have proof of the deed?” Dovir asked. His breath stank of beer, even from my short distance away. 

“Yes.” The stranger’s voice was low and gravely, like a growl. “It wasn’t just a wyvern, though. You had a family of archgriffins nesting not too far from here. Your manservant is collecting the trophies from my horse.”

“Indeed!” The King let out a laugh. “A family of archgriffins. It is a good thing you were here then, witcher! I’m sure none of my men could have handled it.”

“No.” The witcher agreed.

“Well, I will ensure you are paid handsomely for the deed.” Dovir took another deep swallow of beer.

“Appreciate it.” The witcher bowed. “I will be on the next boat back to the mainland as soon as I receive my coin.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.” The King shook his head. “There is a massive summer storm rolling in. You won’t be able to leave for a few days, if not a week.” The witcher’s sigh was audible, and I was almost certain he muttered ‘fuck’ under his breath. Who was this man? 

A large, sweaty hand came down on my shoulder.

“Cort’esa, ready the witcher’s room. The one by the east stair.”

“Yes, my Lord.” With my direct instructions, I stood, bowed to Dovir, and then departed by way of the large Hall doors. I had to pass the witcher on my way out the front of the hall, and I looked at his face as I passed, wanting to smile, for I knew that it would please Dovir to see me playing the gracious hostess, but when he met my eyes, I nearly froze.

Amber, like a cat’s, and with the same slit pupils as a feline.

I continued past him, the smile wiped from my face, to fetch help to prepare his room. Everything I did upon leaving the hall was made harder by my shaking hands. Who was Dovir loaning me off to now? A man with cat’s eyes. He could be part monster. Or entirely monstrous. I steeled myself; I had ways of dealing with him, should the need arise. I was not as impotent as the King and his court thought.

 _Maybe he will be kind…_ I thought to myself, holding out some secret hope that this time might be different. The cynical voice, the part of me that had come into being since arriving in Dovir’s court, snapped back _Yes, because you’ve been so pleasantly surprised by the men of Dovir’s court so far._

I ignored that inner voice and waved off the last of the servants, which left me alone in the freshly readied room. I was wondering if I should sit and await the witcher, or check the bathwater temperature when the door opened.

The man and I locked eyes. His only reaction was to draw in a short breath. Not a gasp, just a momentary pause.

“Am I in the wrong room?” He asked after he let the breath out, sounding slightly annoyed.

“No, you are in the correct room.” I bowed, hands clasped in front of me. “I am here to ready your room and provide other services for you, our guest.” My voice was calm, calmer than I felt, staring into those unnerving eyes. From a distance, they just looked unnaturally coloured. I was worried what I'd see again when he came closer.

He stared at me a moment longer, then entered the room fully, stepping over the threshold.

“I don’t fuck unwilling women.” He finally said. His brusque tone surprised me, and gave me hope. As did the door left open; clearly an invitation for me to leave. Settling on the edge of the bed, he began to strip off his armour and travelling clothes.

“Of course you don’t.” I said, and shut the door. I wondered if my voice sounded as sarcastic to him as it did to me. I hoped not. “I provide more than carnal pleasure, though.” I gestured to the bath. “I can also help you relax, soothe your pains, relieve your aches.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning on one elbow as he looked from the bath to me.

“That still just sounds like sex.”

“I can show you what I mean.” I encouraged.

“What happens if I say no?”

I stared at him, blinking.

“Then...I leave.” My voice hitched on the last word, betraying my fear.

“You seem reluctant.” He stood, now wearing only his trousers and loose shirt. I was silent, the only sound coming from the fire in the hearth, as he watched me. “Which is interesting, because I could see the fear in your eyes when you saw me.” He didn’t sound altogether unimpressed, just curious. Like he was piecing together a puzzle. I still did not speak. “Which means,” he crossed his arms, “either you truly love your role here in the castle or there is something worse than me that awaits you beyond this room.”

I swallowed audibly. He was quick. Too clever.

“Your expression is answer enough. You look like a frightened rabbit.” He said, and dropped his arms. He finally stopped staring at me and looked towards the steaming bathtub. There was a longing in his eyes. For the bath? Or a memory that the sight of it evoked?

“Who are you?” I finally blurted. That seemed to draw him from his memories.

“Geralt of Rivia.” He said, eyeing me. “Though I feel like the question you want to ask is what am I?”

I nodded slowly.

“You heard Dovir; I’m a witcher.” My confusion must have shown on my face, for he frowned at me. “Monster hunter?” He offered.

“That, I understand.” I smiled meekly, feeling the expression pull at my cut lip.

“Who are you?” He returned my question.

“Reina of Vermahna. And what I am is a Cort’esa.”

“I’ve never heard of Vermahna before. Or...Cort’esas.” The word came out harsh on his tongue. I wasn’t sure if he was stalling or trying to rid me of the frightened rabbit expression he’d pointed out earlier, but I was glad for it, either way.

“I don’t imagine so.” I shook my head. “My land is...not of this world. Your world.” 

“Explains a lot.”

“Like?”

“The hair, the accent, the title, the fact that the word witcher didn’t spark any recognition.”

“You aren’t surprised I come from another world?”

“I’ve seen...a lot of things.” He said, by way of explanation, and I felt I would not get more from him. “Portals to other worlds is not beyond the realm of reality.”

I was left with nothing to say, and I simply gestured to the tub again. “Well…?”

He shook his head with a wry smile, shrugged, and shucked his shirt.

I gasped.

There was not an unmarked inch of him. Angry pink and white scar tissue covered his torso, enough to momentarily distract me from the dense muscles I had not anticipated beneath his clothes. Geralt didn’t seem as old as his white hair would suggest, but he also seemed older than his physique would indicate. The men who sported the same lines around their eyes and mouth normally wore skin that looked too loose on their thin frames, or had pot-bellies. This man had the body of a fighter, one who had seen many battles.

“I’ve got my work cut out for me.” I muttered. He glanced at me as he tossed his shirt onto the bed, but said nothing.

“I take it you won’t turn into a blushing maid when I’m completely undressed?” He seemed amused at the prospect. I smiled again, which stung. _Dammit_ , I had to stop doing that.

“I’m no demure virgin.” I said, by way of explanation.

As if to test my words, his eyes did not leave my face as he undid the laces of his breeches, dropped them to the floor, then did the same with his undergarments.

“Shall we?” I asked, once again gesturing to the tub. I did not drop my eyes from his, meeting his challenging look. He stepped into the tub and I lit a few more candles around the room before returning to his side.

“How is the temperature?” I asked.

“Perfect.” There was a new note in his voice, and when I looked, he was smiling softly with his eyes closed.

“I’m going to touch you now.” I whispered, standing behind him. I put my hands on his shoulders and started to knead the muscles there, pressing out the knots. A barely perceptible groan left him, and I smiled. That was the sound of bliss. It was a sound I lived for. It was why I’d become a Cort’esa. “Do you mind…” I trailed off, my hand on the cord that held his hair back from his face. He grunted what I felt was an affirmation. I untied the cord and wove my fingers into his hair, running my fingertips along his scalp. His head tipped back into my hands.

After a few moments, I moved down his neck and shoulder to his arm, until I reached his hands. I’d need to fetch one of my small, fine brushes to clean under his nails fully, but that could wait.

“Who hit you?”

His words were soft, barely above a whisper, but I reacted as if I’d been struck again. I jerked, nearly dropping his hand from mine. Looking to his face, I noticed his eyes were half open. “I take it that’s the fate worse than a witcher that awaits you, if I'd said no?”

I nodded, unable to speak. My tongue went to the cut. I could still taste the iron-copper taste of my blood.

“Someone from the castle, then.” He mused. “Not Dovir, I was with him. Wouldn’t be a servant, because you wouldn’t be so afraid. Leaves the Prince.”

I clenched my jaw and went back to massaging his hand.

“Why don’t you just leave?” He asked, voice hard. Was he judging me? There was an edge I could not identify in his voice.

“Why do you care?” I replied, keeping my voice level. “You’ll forget I even exist once you leave. I don’t matter.”

His eyes opened wider and he seemed to sit up a bit in the basin. I looked up to see him staring at me with a frown.

“Have you always been so hard on yourself? So jaded?”

I barked a bitter laugh and felt my face crumple, my heart twinge. Tears sprang to my eyes.

“No.” I blinked them back, and wiped away the one stubborn droplet as it leaked out. “But I’ve spent the better part of a year trapped here, with no prospect of escape. I’m Dovir’s prized possession. His pet.” The word came out harsh, and then I jerked my head up, eyes narrowed. “Are you….spying on me for him?” My voice was suspicious.

Geralt shook his head, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. “I couldn’t give less of a shit about Dovir.”

I let out a laugh that was part nervous, part disbelief.

“Then why did you come here to help with the archgriffin problem?” I asked.

“Because it’s my job.” He lifted his head, and stared at me again, a wry smile on his lips. “You understand that, don’t you?”

“All too well.” I murmured.

I continued to massage his arms and hands and shoulders, and he stopped asking me questions, for a time. I thought he’d fallen asleep but then he spoke.

“So, besides healing aches and pains, what other services do you provide?”

“Besides sex?” I teased.

“Mhm.” He grunted.

“Well…I provide entertainment of all kind, really. I sing, dance, play many instruments, cards, dice--”

“Gwent?” He asked.

“Yes.” I replied. “One of the servants taught me. I’ve been winning cards--or trying to--off of visiting nobles. I haven’t been able to build it much. Dovir doesn’t get too many visitors.”

He replied with a grunt again, then, “What else?”

“I know many different ways to heal the body. Not just with massage and touch, but magic.”

“You are a sorceress?” This seemed to interest him. “That explains it.” He added, as an afterthought.

“No, nothing so grand as that. My magic is weak compared to a sorceress.” I cleared my throat. “That explains what?”

“Nothing.” He said, with a shrug, barely stirring the surface of the water. Then, “You’re interesting, is all.”

“Really?” I laughed. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.” Quickly changing the subject, I asked. “How’s the water?”

“Starting to get cold.” He replied, and I nodded, standing from my crouched position beside the basin and made my way to the bureau, where a soft robe was folded. I brought it, and a towel to him, and offered both.

“What, you won’t towel me off?” He asked. I faltered, not sure if he was serious-- _was he?!_ \--but then he grabbed the towel, stood and wrapped it around his waist with a teasing smirk cast my way.

“You are full of surprises, witcher.” I said, folding the robe over my arm and stepping back as he emerged from the tub. “I didn’t think you were so humorous.”

“We witchers are full of surprises.” He said. Once he was dry, I handed him the robe and he held it in front of him for a moment, then glanced at his clothes.

“I’m going to send them to be cleaned. They’re filthy.” I said.

He grumbled, but slipped on the robe. I may have used that moment to stare at his full figure before the robe covered him more chastely. He sat on the bed again, and I stared at the basin, then his clothes. His armour was also draped across the large four-post bed.

“I’ll have someone fetch one of the washerwomen, to take care of those.”

“The armour is....” He said. “It must be carefully washed.”

“I’ll go over it myself to make sure it’s in pristine shape for your departure.”

He stared out the window and sighed. “A week or more, Dovir said.”

“Depends on the storms.” I confirmed.

“Fuck.” He muttered, and this time I was certain I’d heard him correctly. I stifled a laugh.

“Would you like something to eat?” I asked. “Or drink?”

“Both.” He agreed, and I went to the door, and stuck my head out. I only waited a moment before a passing servant was able to be flagged down. I gave them instructions to ask for a plate of food and a bottle of wine to be brought up from the kitchen, and that the bathwater needed to be tossed out and a washer woman sent up to take care of the witcher’s things. With my instructions heeded, I closed the door again.

“Food will be up in but a moment, and all your dirty things will be taken away.” I said, feeling proud of this one small task I could accomplish.

“You give orders like a war general. Or a queen.” He was lying on the bed now, hands behind his head, watching me, perfectly at ease.

“You’re not far off.” I muttered, then shook my head. “Enough about me. I want to know more about you!” I settled onto the edge of the bed, and Geralt moved his feet to give me more space. The fact he didn’t sneer at me already spoke wonders for his character. I felt oddly safe around this man who I’d suspected of being a monster. I felt bad for that assumption now.

“I hate talking about me.” He grumbled, closing his eyes with a frown.

“Oh, come now, no one hates talking about themselves!” I teased. “What...does it mean to be a witcher? I understand you hunt monsters but...is it really that simple?”

This made him laugh, a huff out of his nose and a twist to the lips to show his amusement. “No. Of course not. Things are never that simple.” He sat up a bit straighter, opening his eyes again. “People hire me to kill monsters, but more often than not, humans are the real monsters.”

“I don’t doubt that, even for a moment.” I sighed. “Forgive me, but your eyes? How did they…”

“You really haven’t heard of witchers before, have you?” He drew one leg up, resting his forearm on the knee. I couldn’t get over the way he looked at me. His eyes no longer seemed unnerving. They would still take some getting used to, but there was genuine intrigue in his gaze. And I felt it was an intrigue in me, and not just whatever I had going on underneath the green dress I wore. “We undergo mutations, to make us strong enough to fight monsters, among other things. Most of the children don’t survive the trials. I’m one of the lucky ones.”

“Children?” I gaped. He nodded. “That’s…” I bit my tongue; I wanted to know more about this land I was living in. I was not here to pass judgement. “Are there others, like you?” I asked, bringing my legs up so I was sitting cross legged, facing him more directly.

“Yes. There are two who went through the same School as me, the same training. That is the only way in which we are alike. And then there’s the man who trained us.”

“Do you see them often?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugged. “There’s always work for witchers, so we’re always on some job or another.”

“Fascinating.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow at me. “Most people just call us freaks and are done with it.”

“No!” I shook my head. “But...you protect them.”

“No good deed goes unpunished.” He said with a wan smile. “Besides, most people are too superstitious. Think we’re going to make off with their children. Or that we’re witch fuckers.”

“You’re not?” I asked, holding back a smile.

“Well, I can’t speak for the others…” He trailed off, mouth turned up in a half-smile.

“Is that...gloating?” I asked, leaning against the post of the bed.

“No. It was meant to be a joke.”

“Hm, I take back what I said earlier. You aren’t very funny.” I managed this with a straight face, and his eyes moved over my face, before I cracked and laughed. 

“What about you, Reina. What does it mean to be a Cort’esa from Vermahna?” Clearly, we were done talking about him.

“Well, for one, it means I’m a dreadfully long way from home. The title Cort’esa has no importance here. Which is why I’ve been treated like a common whore since my arrival.” I repressed a grimace. “But I imagine that’s not what you meant.” I paused, then continued after gathering myself. “I guess it’s actually almost like your witcher training. Minus the mutations. But we also have schools, but not different Cort’esa schools, different...guilds?” I closed my eyes and shook my head. “That’s coming out very unclear. Let me...start over.”

There was a knock at the door, interrupting me, and I stood from the bed to answer. Geralt remained reclined on the bed, a picture of a man at ease. There were a few servants waiting beyond to take out the basin, a washerwoman to take the clothes and armour, and yet another servant carrying two large platters of food, with their companion carrying a bottle of wine and two goblets.

Everyone set about their tasks, taking and placing things with such haste and diligence that the room was empty again within five minutes. The door shut behind the last of the servants, and I made to bring one of the trays over to the table beside the bed, but when I turned, Geralt was already at my side. I started; and he reached for the tray before I could drop it.

“Sorry. You move much quieter without the armour and boots.” I laughed nervously.

“Yeah, so I’ve been told.” I released the tray to his hands, allowing him to decide where he wanted to sit and eat. There was a small table, usually used for cards, in the corner by one of the long windows, but instead he went to the fire, and settled down in front of the hearth, on the large fur rug that was laid out there. I grabbed the bottle of wine and goblets and joined him.

“Looks good.” He muttered, staring at the food. There was a vast assortment of meats, cheeses, olives and other small bite-sized foods. I settled onto the rug beside him, uncorking the wine and pouring us each a glass. He took the glass and clinked the edge on mine before taking a sip.

“Mmm, being the entertainment has some benefits, it seems.” He said, appreciating the wine. I tossed my head and laughed, savouring the drink. 

“This is the nice part.” I admitted, nodding and taking another sip of the wine. It was very good, and I reflected back for a moment on which of the servants had brought it up for us. Some of the servants were more inclined to be kind to me, while others were brutally cruel. Gaelia had brought the bottle up, one of the girls who I was uncertain of. Perhaps she’d be an ally, if she’d brought up the good wine. Or Dovir had simply told her which to choose.

“You were talking about your training.” Geralt said after a moment. 

“Right.” I reclined on the carpet and stared at the flames. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Geralt take some food from the tray and begin to eat. “My land is small and run by guilds. The Thieves guild, Spy guild, Merchant’s guild, Artisan guild, and of course, the Cort’esa guild. There are others, of course, but those are some of the most influential.” I took another sip of wine. “My mother was the head of the Cort’esa guild. Each guild has a head, someone who meets with other heads of guilds to discuss matters of concern, and bring them forward to the King, who has a more official position as ruler. The late King was my father.” I took another sip of wine.

“Powerful bloodline.” Geralt acknowledged.

“Yes, you could say that. Anyways, I went into Cort’esa training when I was eight.”

“And you thought children being turned into witchers was bad.” Geralt said, eyeing me.

“I didn’t learn about carnal pleasure until much, much later!” I quickly told him. “Goddess, no! That’s foul.” I shook my head. “No, I learned everything else until then; music, knife throwing, swordplay, archery, history, art…it’s only when we are of age that we choose to complete the Cort’esa training or not. Those who do not normally become bards or entertainers, not full Cort’esa. We study anatomy at thirteen, but just the basics. Skeletal structure, muscles and the like. We learn about sexual anatomy at sixteen and we do not begin to take on patrons until eighteen. And then it is our choice who we take on, and when.”

“Sounds...interesting.” Geralt murmured.

“I mean, I’m sure it does but it was mostly just studying for many hours of the day and then doing chores and sleeping.”

“Do you ever regret your path?” He asked.

I thought on that for a moment.

“No.”

“No?” He sounded intrigued.

I nodded. “Even after...everything that happened to me since I arrived, I still would not change my training.” I side-eyed him, gauging my next words. “What drove me to be a Cort’esa is people like you.”

“Like me?” He shook his head. “You’ll have to explain.”

“Of course.” I turned to face him. “When you were in the bath--”

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.” He leaned back, propped up on one arm. I rolled my eyes at him.

“There was a moment where you let pleasure take over. Where your body released, relaxed, and you made a noise of bliss.” He stared at me, one eyebrow raised. I continued on. “That is the moment I live for. The moment when one gives themselves over to pleasure. To contentment. Whether it’s during a heartbreaking song, or because of a soft or firm touch relieving a strained muscle, or even in the throes of passion. To know that I’ve helped someone achieve that...euphoria.” I shook my head, unsure of how to continue. “It’s hard to explain. It fulfills me.”

I hadn’t realised I’d stopped meeting his eyes and was staring at my hands as they toyed with the hem of my dress. I looked up then, and he was just...staring at me, face unreadable.

“You can’t be real.” He said, after a moment. “I’ve never known anyone to be so…”

“Naive?” I said, smiling, embarrassed.

“Selfless.” He replied.

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I reached for some of the food and ate.

“You said you’re the daughter of the late King, and you said your mother was the High Cort’esa. What happened to them?”

I swallowed, and took a sip of wine. My mouth felt dry, and I felt my throat tighten.

“It’s...a long and difficult story to tell.” I sighed, feeling the sting of memory.

“That’s a nice way of telling me to fuck off.” He said. I met his eyes again, and shook my head.

“It’s not that, really. I just...I haven’t fully come to terms with what happened. And I haven’t told anyone yet.”

“Then save the story for another time.” He said, and ate some more. I smiled.

“This is by far the most pleasant, normal discussion I’ve had in months.” I said, chuckling.

“That’s a surprise. Normally I’m told I’m not much of a conversationalist.”

“Well, you haven’t hit me, called me a whore or spent any of the time degrading me or making lewd jokes, so you’re a better conversationalist than the majority of my patrons have been to date.”

“How did you even end up in Dovir’s castle?”

“It’s stupid, really.” I waved a hand. “I came out of a portal on the edge of his hunting grounds, back in winter. I wandered through the forest, getting more and more lost and growing more and more cold until I collapsed. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in the castle. Dovir’s son was watching over me.” I shuddered. “At first--at the very, very beginning--he was kind. But that quickly ended.” I shook my head. “I didn’t know how far from my homeland I’d come. I shared who I was, and my profession and Dovir decided I would stay and amuse his guests.”

“Dovir clearly has shitty friends.”

This made me laugh. “Remember what you said about monsters, and how humans become monsters, more often than not? I know this firsthand.” I let out a deep breath. “Men who wouldn’t dream of harming me in any other instance suddenly take great pleasure in it, because Dovir says it’s okay. That I’m there for their...distraction.” I closed my eyes, and shook my head, clearing it of the harsh memories.

“That’s not what a Cort’esa is.” 

My eyes snapped open and I nodded slowly at him. He spoke the words I’d been thinking.

“You’re right. It’s not at all what a Cort’esa is. I chose this path, in order to heal. Not to be treated like a common whore. Worse, even.” I wrapped my arms around my legs, resting my chin on top.

Geralt got to his feet and made his way to where his bags were sitting.

“Sounds like you need some distraction. You up for a game of gwent?”

I glanced at him, a smile touching my lips.

“Of course. I am yours for the evening.”


	2. Sorceresses and Stories

We played gwent for at least two hours, but finished only a few games in that time, intent as we were on our conversation. I’d fetched my cards, deciding I’d likely not be accosted upon leaving Geralt’s room, and I was correct. 

Geralt told me about his adventures, growing up in Kaer Morhen, and the incredible sorceresses he knew. I spoke about the magical knowledge I had, which was little, my own childhood, and the different customs of my land.

“You said ‘Goddess’ earlier.” Geralt remarked, halfway through what had to be at least our twentieth hand. “I take it you don’t mean Mellitele or Freya.”

“No. I’ve never heard of Mellitele, though the other is familiar. I worship Solmera and Ljunara; the goddesses of the sun and the moon.”

“Interesting. Any particular reason?”

I laughed. “You mean is there something in particular that caused my faith to blossom?” I shook my head. “Nothing in my living memory, but I was born during a solar eclipse. My people see that as the goddesses both choosing me. I don’t rely on them for a great many things, but I do believe they look out for me.”

“Hm.” I eyed him over the edge of my hand, as he played a card from his into the game.

“You don’t hold much stock in religion, do you?”

“Nope.”

“That’s understandable.”

As he lost the round, he leaned back against the headboard. We had moved from the floor to the bed, bringing the food with us. We’d both had a fair bit of wine, him more than me, but neither of us were on the brink of being belligerent.

“What, you’re not going to try and convert me?”

“My goddesses exist to me, whether you believe in them or not. My beliefs are my own, as are yours. Another round?” I began shuffling my cards again.

“No.” My face fell as my hands faltered in their shuffling. He leaned forward. “I’m not about to throw you out, Reina.” He said gently.

“Oh.” I nodded. “Then...perhaps something else? A different game? A song? I learned a ballad by a bard named Dandelion, it’s quite good--”

“Are you serious?” I looked up at his tone, and he was looking at me with an expression of what could only be described as disbelief. “Out of all the ballads by all the bards, you know one by Dandelion?”

“Y-yes?” I wasn’t sure how to answer this. “Is--I take it you don’t like his music?”

“It’s not that. I know him.”

“Oh!” Then, a thought hit me. “Oh!” I said louder, feeling foolish. “Of course; you must be the White Wolf he refers to in the song!”

“The one and only.” Geralt growled, crossing his arms. “I can’t believe, of all the--” He glanced at my sharply. “If you _ever_ meet him, you aren’t to tell him of this. He doesn’t need anymore inflation to that ego of his.”

“Slim chance of that ever happening.” I replied with a bland smile. “I’m trapped here, remember? I have no money, no prospects...plus nearly everyone on the island knows I belong to the King and wouldn’t dare take me to the mainland.”

“Perhaps not…” Geralt nodded.

“So music is out.” I said, all business.

“Sing me something from your own land.” Geralt said suddenly.

“I...it would be in Vermahnese.” I said, surprised. “I’d have to translate it--”

“Don’t. Just sing it and translate it after. Maybe I’ll try to guess what it’s about.”

I chuckled, and shrugged. “Your wish is my command, Lord.” Geralt sat up straighter on the bed and I slid off, my feet hitting the cold stone. I turned, took a breath and began to sing.

_She stands alone on highest hill_

_Dreams far gone, but longed for still_

_Of her youth and times long passed_

_They say she was blessed_

_They say she was blessed_

_Her love was pure of heart and strong_

_A noble soul, he righted wrong_

_He stole her heart away_

_They were married on that day_

_They were married on that day_

_But father time is a jealous man_

_And called the lover from his woman_

_To fight in endless war_

_She saw him nevermore_

_She saw him nevermore_

_And so she stands and weeps on hill_

_For dreams long dead, but longed for still_

_Of her lover, dead and gone_

_It won’t be long_

_It won’t be long._

While I sang, I danced the part of the lady. The song was normally sung and played by one, and performed by two or more dancers. It was also usually much longer but I was worried I would not do it justice.

When I finished, Geralt was smiling softly.

“Definitely better than a Dandelion ballad.”

I blushed. “Thank you. It’s one of my favourites.”

“It seems sad.”

“It is.” I told him the story of the woman. 

“I could see her heartbreak on your face.” He said. “You’ve experienced heartbreak before.” It was not a question.

“Yes.”

“As hard to talk about as your parents?” He asked, taking my one-word answer as evasion. I shook my head in response.

“Oh, no. It's just not a very good story.” I smiled. “It was years ago. I was...young. I’d just finished my Cort’esa training and I was ready to take on patrons. Considering who my mother was, I had my pick of patrons. And I chose a boy I’d had a crush on for years.” I smiled at the memory, and made my way back to the bed, settling at the foot cross-legged. My eyes grew distant at the memory. “Which is one of the cardinal sins of being a Cort’esa; never fall in love with a patron. Especially not if it’s not mutual.”

“I take it it wasn’t reciprocated?”

I shook my head. “No. As it turns out, he liked men. He chose my friend, Tothren, over me. I spent weeks attempting to woo him. To seduce him. To befriend him. I’d built up an entire fantasy life with him in my head. And then-- _poof!_ \--it burst like a bubble.” I smiled at him sheepishly. “I know, it’s not the most traumatic story of heartbreak, but I was eighteen and had never truly loved anyone before.”

“And you’ve not loved anyone since? How long has it been since then?”

I eyed him, raising one eyebrow. “If you are trying to figure out my age, good luck. I’ll just say it was a while ago. I’m older than I look.”

“You look like you’re twenty-something.”

“Good guess.” I replied, aloof.

“You’re serious about not telling me how old you are?”

“Would you tell me if I asked?” I raised an eyebrow.

“You wouldn’t believe me.” He replied evenly.

“Try me.”

“I’m not yet a hundred, but I’m close.”

I’d chosen to take a sip of wine at that point and began coughing profusely. Geralt looked stunned for a moment, until I cleared my throat, settled back and replied “I see.”

“Really? That’s it?”

“Well, you’re definitely older than I thought.”

“I get that a lot.”

“How….how does that work?” I leaned forward on the bed, keenly analysing his face. “My people age slowly because of the magic--”

“So your magic keeps you young. Sorceress.” The last word was said with a sigh of exasperation.

“I already told you, I’m _not_ a sorceress. But there is deep magic in my land. It’s the reason my hair is the colour it is.” I fingered the pale purple strands. “Those who are born without magic--and there are very few--are born without our signature hair. Browns and blondes and blacks.”

“So you’re saying that everyone from Vermahna has purple hair?”

“No. Does everyone in Temeria have white hair?”

“Just those of us who are almost one hundred.”

I laughed then, with more candor, and took another sip of wine. This time I didn’t choke. Instead, I eyed Geralt over the rim of my glass.

“Forty-two.”

Geralt stared at me. “Are you finally confessing your age, Cort’esa?”

“I am, Witcher.” I replied evenly.

“Looks like we’re both not quite what we seem.”

“It would appear so.”

We ate in silence for a few moments, and I appreciated it. I felt oddly relaxed, more relaxed than I had been in a while. Despite the fact I was lying atop a bed with a man who was more than capable of doing me great harm, I felt more secure with him than anyone else in the palace. I yawned, and took another sip of wine to stir me into wakefulness, knowing it would do quite the opposite. Wine always made me feel heavy and heady and sleepy.

“Were you serious, then, when you said you hadn’t loved anyone since you were eighteen?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a long time not to fall in love.”

“I didn’t take you for a romantic, Geralt.” I teased. He shook his head, rolling his eyes. I saved him a reply, by continuing to speak. “I’ve definitely _admired_ people before. But nothing so...consuming as what I felt for that first boy.” He was silent, and I used my foot to nudge the inside of his leg, another yawn overtaking me and preventing me from speaking right away. “I take it you’ve had and lost loves?”

His reply was a strange smile.

“You could say that.”

“Oh come now. I’ve told you my age, my earliest and only true heartbreak. It’s your turn to share now, I believe.”

He grunted, or moreso growled in response, adjusted himself on the bed and sighed.

“It’s...hard to explain.”

“Hard or long?” I asked. He met my eyes and smirked, and I made a face. “Don’t be perverse.” I nudged him again with my toe.

“Long, I guess, more than anything.” He let out another sigh, like a man about to take a deep plunge. “There are many women who have great importance in my life.”

“Sounds...complicated.”

“It is. Sometimes.” He seemed to teeter on the edge, then began speaking more swiftly. “I was--am--deeply involved with a woman, Yennefer. We have a long history.”

“Well, with you being old as you are--”

“Quiet, you.” He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “She’s nearly as old as me. Still as beautiful as the day we met.”

“Sounds like you’re quite taken.” I tried to imagine this Yennefer. I couldn’t begin to imagine how beautiful she could be, to draw Geralt’s attention. Would she be fair, or dark? Tall or short? “I fail to see where it becomes complicated.”

“She was taken by the Wild Hunt--” seeing the confusion on my face, he backtracked, “An...evil group of elves.” It sounded far too simple, but I imagined now was not the time to learn about this Wild Hunt. “I traded myself for her and, well, I rode with them for a while.”

“I see how this story begins to grow long.” He grunted in reply, before continuing.

“Ciri finally freed me from the Wild Hunt.”

“Ciri? Another woman of great importance?”

“My...daughter.” He didn’t say it with certainty, though. Before I could ask, he shook his head. “It’s hard to explain.”

“There will be time for that. You’ll be here for a few days, at least, until the storms pass.”

“Fuck. Stop reminding me.”

“Sounds like you don’t like it here almost as much as I don’t.” I remarked, gesturing for him to toss me a pillow. He did and I reclined, half on my side.

“I don’t. It’s too…”

“Far from the civilised and educated world?” I suggested. A diplomatic way of saying a filthy backwater kingdom.

“Yeah.”

We lapsed back into silence, perhaps due to my yawn, and I pressed my face into the pillow to stifle it.

“You were telling me about the ladies in your life.”

“Riiight.” He drew the word out, and I pointed an accusatory finger.

“Don’t you dare stop now. I want to know all the details.”

“If I tell you all the details, we’ll be here for a longtime after the storms have passed.”

“Fine. At least finish telling me about Yennefer and Ciri and the Wild Hunt.”

“Technically that story isn’t done yet…” He shook his head. “Once I was free from the Wild Hunt, I ended up back at Kaer Morhen but...I had no memory.” He sounded only slightly bitter at this. I let him continue. “I couldn’t remember Yen or Ciri, and that’s when I met Triss.”

“The plot thickens.”

“You have no idea.” He stood, then, to put another log onto the fire. He also barred the door, which I found interesting. He’d let me stay, then. My heart throbbed with appreciation for this fine man. He returned to the bed, and settled back down. “I developed feelings for Triss. When she helped me recover my memories, I remembered…”

“You remembered your feelings for Yennefer.” He nodded, confirming my words. “Hang on.” I said, putting the pieces together. “They’re both sorceresses, aren’t they? It makes sense, now.” I smiled sadly at him. “That is indeed a much more complicated tale than mine. At least, the romantic pa-aawwww.” My last word was swallowed by a yawn. Geralt eyed me with a speculative look.

“Clearly boring, too. You’ve been yawning non-stop for the last half hour.”

“I’m sorry, it’s not that you’re boring.” I waved a hand, my eyes watering. 

“You’re exhausted.” He answered for me, as another jaw-cracking yawn overtook me. I simply nodded.

“Well, let’s get the food off the bed.”

“I shall take my leave.”

We spoke at the same time, and I sat up straighter.

“Wait...you’d have me stay?”

“Will you be safe from the Prince?”

“Yes. At least for the night.”

“Then yes, I’d have you stay.”

“I’ll sleep on the rug.” I offered quickly.

“Beds big enough for two.” He replied, and seeing my expression, waved a hand. “I’m not letting you sleep on the floor. And, like I said already, I won’t lay a hand on anyone unwilling.”

“I know.” I replied, choosing my words as I met his eyes. “I just...don’t recall ever saying I was unwilling.”


	3. Offers and Demands

He seemed to watch me for ages, unblinking, processing my last words, before finally speaking.

“If this is payback for my protection, you don’t need--”

“I know.” I sat up fully, and took the tray off the bed and over to the table, before turning back to him. “I know I don’t need to. I know you don’t expect me to. I _want_ to.”

“Reina--”

“If it’s because of Yennefer--”

“No, it’s not that.” He sat on the side of the bed, watching me with near a frown. “You’ve been treated poorly here. I don’t want to continue the bad memories.”

“You won’t.” I replied. Then I ran a hand through my hair, figuring out my next words. “To be chosen by a Cort’esa is a high honour. In my land, we decide on our patrons. They must prove themselves to us.” I stared at him. “You are the first man I’ve come across in this land who is worthy of my skills, my training. My time. And you are the first one to give me the chance to refuse.” I took a few more steps forward, until we were knee to knee. Sitting, he was eye-level with my chest, but his eyes remained on my face. “But if you truly do not desire it--”

Apparently, my words were all he had needed. His hands moved quickly; one to the back of my neck, the other to my waist, and he pulled me down to meet him, our mouths meeting. It was a tender, yet fierce kiss. I hadn’t been kissed with any sort of gentleness in ages. I pushed all of my memories from my mind and focused on Geralt. He was here, at my fingertips, right now. I wanted to give to him my experience and training, to show him my gratitude. And part of me also wanted to be selfish. To take my own pleasure from him.

He broke away from the kiss to place his hot, hungry mouth on my neck and collarbone. My hands had made their way to his chest, and his were now at my dress, tugging at the laces. I was going to help him when I felt the dress loosen, and his hands slipped the simple garment over my shoulders. Beneath the outer layer, I was wearing only a thin shift. He grasped my breast, thumb running over my nippled under the last layer that stood between his skin and mine. My hands went to the tie of the robe, which I quickly tugged aside.

“You’ll have to tell me about all your scars.” I murmured into his hair as I slid the robe down, to pool at his hips on the bed. I was half-straddling him now, teetering. He was holding me up, but soon--soon!--we would fall back onto the bed. All it would take was for him to lean back, and take me with him.

“Later.” His hands had left my breasts, nipples practically sparking from the friction, and went instead to the hem of my shift, to lift it. I slid my hands down his shoulders and forearms, taking any excuse I could to touch every part of him, and pushed his hands down. My body followed until I was kneeling before him.

He was more than ready, his member erect before me. I met his eyes as I brought my mouth to the tip and a shiver passed through him, my breath curling around him. I traced my tongue delicately, gently, around the tip of his penis a few times, my hands resting gently on his thighs. When I took him fully into my mouth, he made the same sound of pleasure he’d made earlier in the bath, and I closed my eyes in a smile. One hand went to my hair, fisted there, neither pulling nor pushing, but ready for either.

Inside my mouth, my tongue was dancing over him. I could feel his pulse quickening beneath my palms, still resting on his thighs, and I opened my eyes to stare at him from under my lashes. His head had fallen back and his eyes were closed.

After a moment, the hand fisted in my hair applied pressure, and not in the direction I’d expected. He gently pulled me off of him.

Before I could protest, he reached for my hand and pulled me to my feet. I was ready to fall upon him but before I did, he pulled me between his legs, and lifted my shift over my head in the span of a breath. Then his mouth was on my skin, every inch of it that he could reach; my chest, my breasts, my ribcage. His facial hair was both rough and soft where it brushed me, and his hands went to my rear, holding me firmly to him.

I finally fell.

He controlled the descent, and I found myself lying on top of him, his hot, hard erection pressing into my belly.

I made a move to sit up, to take him into me, but he pushed me higher up his abdomen, hands firmly against the curve of my ass. I stared at him.

“You’re not the only one who knows what to do with their tongue.” He murmured, pushing me higher. I hesitated; it was my job to satisfy, not to be satisfied until after.

_Break the rules._ My inner voice encouraged.

I settled myself over his chin and felt his beard and breath brush my inner thighs. Something deep within me clenched and then I felt his tongue on me.

The noise he had made was nothing compared to the noise I now made. It was part sigh, part moan and much louder than his had been. He chuckled against me, and the vibration sent a pulsing shiver through me, a ripple of the sensation centered between my legs.

He’d not been wrong. He knew exactly what to do with his tongue.

He seemed to know precisely where I needed him to go, to urge me closer to my peak. He lathed and flicked my clit, and then would sink his tongue deep inside me, leaving me aching, throbbing, for the feel of his tongue against my nerve bundle again.

My breath began coming in shorter pants, and I wished for something--anything--to grab onto, to save me from leaving my body as the orgasm began to creep through me, slowly then all at once.

I threw my head back, arms thrown behind me to brace against his chest, my back arched and chest to the sky as shudders wracked my body, my legs clenching around his shoulders as waves of pleasure crested over me. I swore I saw the stars.

All too soon, the orgasm began to ebb away, and I realised I’d dug my fingernails into the planes of his chest that I could reach. I slowly released my grip--my muscles all felt hardened, like I’d been transformed into some erotic statue--and shifted off his face. I slid down his body, bringing my mouth back to his in a kiss that screamed _more!_

He guided himself into me, the slickness from my orgasm easing him in smoothly. I could taste myself on his lips and it thrilled me. This man was not an inexperienced lover.

He held himself steady inside me for a moment, both of us adjusting to the feel of him inside me. He bucked his hips once and my eyes fluttered back, a small groan escaping my lips as the thrust brought to life something within me.

We were still on the edge of the bed, and Geralt sat up, his hands supporting my back and hips against him as my balance was thrown off. My legs went around his hips and I felt the thick muscles of his thighs tense before he stood, holding me to him. He laid me down on the bed, easing our bodies back, to the center of the feathery mattress.

He did this all without removing himself from me.

I took in the sight of him, arched over me, broad shoulders blocking out most of my view. My hands went to his scars, tracing the jagged patterns of battles long past. It was only a moment, before he took up a rhythm, thrusting into me until I was panting again, my hips arched up to meet him, to take him deeper.

My hands cupped his neck and I brought his mouth back to mine, taking his bottom lip between my teeth and teasing it. His growl in response was all I needed, and I smiled against his mouth. He kissed me back hungrily, almost a challenge, his tongue breaking past my defenses and entering a battle with mine. It was fierce and dominant. Challenging.

_So that’s how we’re going to do this…_

Leveraging my legs, I used my hips against his to push him onto his back, flipping us so I was on top again. He let out a throaty chuckle and his hands went to my hips, roaming up my sides to take my breasts in roughened hands again.

I grabbed his wrists and pushed them above his head, pressing down against him, taking him into me. I slowed the pace he had set, gyrating my pelvis against his. I met his eyes and, for the first time, was shocked at their beauty. The colour, the depth. It was likely just lust, bringing my senses alive.

I set my own pace then, sliding him in and out of me as I straddled him, using my legs and hands still curled around his wrists as balance points. He arched against me, hips straining upwards to meet me, thrust for tantalising thrust.

I kept riding him, picking up my pace.

His eyes closed, and he grit his teeth--was he holding back?--before his hands broke free of mine, going to my hips as he sat up. My hands went to his shoulders, stabilizing myself, as he lifted and pressed himself into me, his actions showing his need for release. I could tell it was coming soon, and reached out to him with more than just my hands.

As I connected with him, his mouth went to my collarbone, teeth scraping my skin and stifling his groan as he came, shuddering against me and losing his rhythm. I _felt_ his orgasm and I shuddered with him.

We remained like that for what felt like a few hours, the only noises in the room the faint sputtering of the candles, the crackling of the fire and our heavy breathing slowly returning to normal. I slowly disconnected from him, and noticed that my senses felt dulled as I left him.

His mouth began to move against my neck, and I realised he was speaking.

“What was that?”

I was confused for a moment, then realised he might have felt _something_ when I linked to him.

“Ah...it’s one of my magical talents.” I replied. “Normally people can’t feel when I link to them…” I trailed off. “Sorry, I should have asked.”

“No, it was...interesting.”

“Oh?” He was beginning to lie back on the bed again, and I disengaged from him, a small shudder wracking my body as he was fully unsheathed from me. “How so?”

“It felt like we were one flesh.” He shook his head, eyes fluttering shut, words coming out slowly. Looks like I wasn’t the only sleepy one anymore.

“Normally I use that power to seek out injury and ailments. Deeper hurts. And...cure them.”

“You’ll have to tell me more about your magic tomorrow.” His words slurred, and he opened one eye to stare at me. “Still think you’re a sorceress.”

“Call me what you want.” I said, lying beside him. I began to pull back the covers, crawling underneath. He moved too, joining me beneath the sheets, his movements lethargic. His arms went around me, and his breathing was warm and steady against my ear.

I began to drift off too, but then, with a jerk, I gasped “The door!”

“It’s locked.” He pulled me closer. “You’re safe.”

“Safe.”

It was the first time in months I didn’t have nightmares, and slept through the night.

***

I awoke the next morning to find that the bed was empty, but, without opening my eyes I could feel that Geralt was still in the room. I could hear him breathing. I rolled over to the side of the bed. He was doing push-ups, wearing only his undergarments. I wondered how many he had done, and was about to ask when he lifted his head and saw me watching him.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.” He said, not faltering in his presses.

“You didn’t.” I murmured, then stretched like a cat, my arms going above my head as my whole body elongated, joints and bones and muscles protesting after a night of passion and deep rest. “How long have you been up?”

“Not long. Someone brought breakfast. Their knock didn’t even stir you.”

“I’ll take my leave then, and let you eat in peace.”

He stopped his activities then, and sat back on his haunches, shaking his head at me.

“Stop it. I’m not going to throw you out.” He stood slowly, rolling out his shoulders. 

“You may not have a say…” I murmured.

A knock sounded at the door, punctuating the bleakness of my statement. I pulled on the robe he had discarded the night before, and sat up. Geralt opened the door and my blood turned to ice. The man who stood in the doorway was stunning and young. He was not nearly as broad as Geralt through the shoulders, but he had beautiful and fine features, as if carved by an expert’s hand. He looked angelic. I knew from experience that looks could be deceiving.

“Ah, witcher. I hope the Cort’esa was a good bed warming gift? Quite the import.” Prince Aylir chuckled good-naturedly, then looked past Geralt to see me. I could scarcely breathe. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to borrow her for a while--”

“I’m not done with her.” Geralt replied before the Prince had even finished his request. As Aylir opened his mouth to protest, Geralt closed the door in his face.

When he turned to face me, my eyes were wide and my hands were clasped over my mouth.

“Reina, are you okay?” Geralt’s voice was concerned and he approached me slowly, eyes wary, like I was some wild thing about to bolt.

“Why...why did you do that?” I asked, my chin beginning to tremble. He looked confused.

“I’m not letting him hurt you--”

“For now.” I said, tears forming in my eyes. I hated being so weak but I was scared. “Once you’re gone...it’ll be worse.”

“What did he do to you?” He asked, sitting down gently on the edge of the bed.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, then let it out.

“I’m lucky.” I said, steadying myself. “I’m lucky because unless he kills me, I can recover. He’s broken my nose at least three times, once when he threw me down the stairs into the cellar. I also broke three ribs then, I think.” I tried to remember all the hurts he had caused, but the past year was blending into one long nightmare. “It took me three days to recover. I didn’t leave the cellar. One of the other servants found me. She brought me water. I think he thought he’d killed me but…” I met Geralt’s eyes. “I’m not going to let him win.” Though it felt like I already had.

“You defied him but there’s nothing he can do to you. His father wouldn’t let him. But me? He’ll make me pay.” I wrapped my arms around my knees. “It doesn’t matter if you’re here for a month or a week, he’ll wait. And then he’ll get me when I least expect it.”

“Well, he can wait forever, then. Because I’m taking you with me when I leave.”

This caused me to laugh bitterly.

“You think Dovir will just let me leave? I already told you, I’m a slave here. Nothing short of perhaps buying me would change his mind.”

“If that’s what it takes.”

It took a moment for the shock of his words to wear off. 

“Geralt, you can’t be serious!” I shook my head. “You can’t spend all your coin on me--”

“It likely wouldn’t be _all_ my coin.” He replied evenly. I glanced at him sharply and realised he was teasing me, trying to lighten the mood.

“Still, I doubt Dovir would let me go. He’ll fight it.”

“We’ll get you out of here.” Geralt said adamantly.

“Of course.” I gave in, at least in appearance. I did not hold much hope that he’d find a way to free me.

Still, there was something about him that made me want to believe. I trusted him, which was odd enough in itself, and I trusted he’d try to free me, but I didn’t believe he’d succeed.

I was bound here.


	4. "Let's discuss my reward"

The next few days, Geralt did not leave my side. I was touched; there were surely other things he could be doing with his time, and yet he stayed with me. I did take him on a tour of the castle, and on one of the nights near the end of the visit, when the ocean storms were finally passing, we borrowed some horses to take a walk down to the beach. The moon was high and bright and lit the path and the landscape. And our entanglement on the beach.

As we disentangled ourselves, stretched out on a horse blanket, which was a better alternative than the sand, Geralt paused, staring around the empty beach, eyes narrowed. His body was stiff, alert.

“What is it?” I murmured, alarmed.

“Someone’s close.”

“A monster?” I asked, coming closer to him. I’d seen sirens and drowners at a distance and had no desire to see them up close.

“No. Human.” He peered into the darkness and I wondered if all of his senses were better in the dark than a regular human’s. He’d edged closer to his swords and was leaning down to grab one, eyes still fixed on the brush and swaying trees, when suddenly he straightened. “They’re gone.”

“You sure it wasn’t just one of Dovir’s subjects?” Geralt, now leaning down to get his clothes and dress, eyed me with a look that clearly answered that question, while calling into suspicion my sensibilities. I smiled sheepishly. “I take your meaning.” It _was_ after dark and we were on a remote part of the beach.

I dressed too, quicker than I likely would have.

“Maybe it was just someone from the castle, making sure you don’t away with me.”

“I’ve not given up on that.” He replied softly. I’d discovered that he in fact had a shockingly tender side, contrary to his brash, bloody exterior. Still, there was much about him I did not yet know, and did not suspect I ever would have the chance to learn. “You need to get off this island. And I’ve got the perfect place for you to go, until we can find out how to send you home.”

“Home.” I shook my head. “There’s nothing left for me in Vermahna.” I sat down on the horse blanket, now fully clothed.

“This about your family?”

I nodded grimly, staring out to the sea, which was still in turmoil after the storms. Geralt would be leaving likely the day after next. I ignored that glum future, and worried instead about my dark past. “Yes. I told you that my father was the King, and my mother was the High Cort’esa? Well, just before I arrived here, there was a coup. My father and mother were both killed, along with the rest of the Guild leaders.” And many, many more...I thought to myself, memories spilling over me like the spray of the ocean. “My father’s best friend led the coup and despite warnings that he was planning something, my father still decided to trust him. And he paid for that trust with his life.” I was no longer angry with him, though I had been for a long time. “My mother tried to convince my father that Chiral wasn’t to be trusted but...he didn’t listen. So she told me to prepare to flee, to prepare for a journey, if the need arose.” I shook my head. “I still don’t know if she somehow sent me here. I didn’t think she had magic that powerful. But once I fled the capital, soldiers chased me. Men and women I had trusted were hunting me. I turned back to see how far they were, and when I looked forward again, my horse was running full speed into a whirling vortex. And then I was here, in the snow, in the dead of winter.” I sighed.

“I have nowhere to go. Least of all home.”

“I already said I have a place for you.” Geralt replied. I turned my face to him and smiled patiently.

“I truly appreciate the sentiment, but I’ll believe it when I’m free.”

We mounted our horses and headed back to the castle.

“Why do you have two swords?” I asked, as we neared the gates. “I mean, I’d understand if they were short-swords, or even hand-and-a-half swords, but those are two-handed blades. You can’t possibly dual-wield with those.”

He turned to stare at me.

“You know your swords.”

I snorted. “Barely. That is basic stuff we’re taught as students.”

“I wear two blades for two kinds of enemies.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “The silver is for monsters. The steel is for man and beast.”

“Interesting.” I mused. “We don’t have monsters back home, I didn’t know they were sensitive to certain metals.”

“Silver is the only way to destroy some beasts. Or oil. Or bombs. Or undoing a curse.”

“Sounds like there are a lot of ways monsters can ‘only’ be killed.”

He grunted in reply.

We dismounted the horses in the stables, brushed them down and settled them for the night, before climbing the stairs to Geralt’s room. I stood in the doorway a moment, taking in the sight as he sat down on the bed and removed his boots. He glanced up to find me watching him.

“What?” He leaned on his knees. “You have that look in your eyes.”

“What look?”

“Hard to explain.” He finished taking off his boots, and stared back at me. “Like you’re already grieving a loss.”

“This may be one of the last times I see you.” I said succinctly. “The storms have passed, and boats will be headed back to the continent now. And we will have to bid you farewell.”

His only reply was to shake his head. “Stubborn one, aren’t you?”

“How?”

“Very determined to believe the worst.”

“It’s not that!” I replied, crossing my arms. “I just don’t see why you are concerning yourself with me.”

He shrugged. “Maybe it’s just so I can send a big fuck you to Dovir.”

This made me chuckle. He patted the bed and I approached, after locking the bedroom door, and sat beside him.

“If you’re so certain that this will be the last time we see each other...then might as well make the most of it.”

***

The next day was beautiful, with no sign of storm clouds on the horizon. Geralt and I went to the main hall mid afternoon, having no more excuse to not go. We found the King already seated in his throne, as if awaiting us. I left Geralt’s side for the first time in ages and knelt at Dovir’s feet, head bowed. I chose the side opposite from Aylir, hoping to keep my distance for as long as possible.

“I take it you’ve enjoyed the comforts of our kingdom?” Dovir asked, voice loud and boisterous.

“I have. And I’ve enjoyed the company of the Cort’esa, from Vermahna.” I bit my lip; that was a very diplomatic way of forcing Dovir to acknowledge I was not from their kingdom. I wondered what other jabs and barbs the witcher had up his sleeve. 

“I can tell; you’ve been the only one able to have her pay any attention to them since your arrival.”

“We witchers are insatiable. I thought that was common knowledge.” He replied evenly.

“Of course.” Dovir’s voice was unimpressed. “Well, we have a ship leaving on the morrow, at dawn, and we will have a proper send-off tonight to see you on your way.”

“I want the Cort’esa to come with me.”

“I told you.” I heard Aylir hiss. I forced myself not to react--how did he know? Or was it just a guess?--and kept my head bowed as my heartbeat quickened. My fate was entirely out of my hands now.

“Do you now?” Dovir asked, shifting in his seat. “Why’s that? And what makes you think I’ll let her go?”

“Because I don’t think she’s being treated fairly here. And because I know you have a problem I can solve.”

“You already took care of the archgriffin.” The king replied. “And the Cort’esa is treated well enough.”

“Dovir...I did not take you for a blind, or cruel, man.” Geralt said, crossing his arms. Dovir looked ready to speak, but the witcher pressed on. “And I did handle the archgriffin, but there are also a handful of drowner and siren nests on the south side of your island. Only a few miles away from your main port.”

“Why should I care?”

“Because if I don’t deal with them now, then they will spread. Likely to the port. And then no one will want to sail in or out of your harbour, until you deal with them. And from what I’ve seen, it’s likely a bad infestation.” He did not say it smugly, but I felt he was pleased.

“You’d go to all this trouble just for a whore?”

I saw a muscle in Geralt’s jaw jump. “Yes.” It came out low, and I felt he wanted to say more, were it diplomatic.

“She’ll never love you.” Aylir said loudly. “She’ll just toy with you. Whatever she’s told you, whatever lies she’s told, you cannot possibly trust her. She’ll likely slip a knife between your ribs the minute you get her out of the castle.”

“I wasn’t speaking to you, Aylir.” Geralt said, not even looking at the Prince. I could practically feel Aylir’s anger. Geralt was making things worse for both of us. If Aylir convinced Dovir not to give me up--

“You take care of the nests and return the coin for the archgriffin contract, we’ve got a deal.”

“Father you can’t be serious!” Aylir snapped as my heart soared.

“Quiet, Aylir. If the witcher is correct, those nests are far more important than your plaything.”

I kept myself frozen, watching Geralt from underneath my lowered lids.

“Deal.” Geralt nodded, then turned and made his way out of the hall, his rapid footsteps echoing sharply through the room as he disappeared from view. I wanted to cheer. It had worked! I was going to be free!

“Time to say goodbye to your toy, Aylir.”

My blood instantly went cold, replacing my brief joy. Dovir’s words cut deep, and I felt myself turning icy with fear. This was it; Aylir was finally going to kill me, just so no one else could have me. There was no way that he’d let Geralt take me away.

“Don’t get carried away.” Dovir said as he stood. “I made a deal with the witcher.”

“Of course, father.” Aylir’s voice was bitter and full of anger.

I felt like retching.

“You heard the King, Cort’esa. Duty calls.” He threw my words from but a few days ago at me. “We’ll finish where we left off. Go to my room.”

I knew better than to disobey. But I wondered if I might be able to prolong the inevitable. If Geralt was fast enough...but the south side of the island was far away. He’d be gone for at least a few hours, not including how long it might take him to deal with the nests.

“I said get up!” Aylir snapped, and I felt his hands fist in my hair before I could react. He dragged me down the steps of the dais, my hips and legs smashing against the stones as we went. Dropping me, he crouched down. I didn’t scream, or cry; I knew no one would come. Not only that, it seemed to give him greater joy when I did. 

His face right next to mine, he sneered.

“That’s right, your friend the mutant freak isn’t here to protect you anymore. I don’t know what lies you told him to convince him to help you. But once I’m done dealing with you, I’ll make sure he doesn’t interfere with my business again.” He kicked me as he stood, and I rolled over, unable to prevent the small cry that came along with the contact of his booted foot with my abdomen. I got to my feet shakily and walked quickly towards the doors, towards his room. Towards my death. It didn’t matter that Dovir had told Aylir not to get carried away. If I died, he’d simply apologise to the witcher and likely offer some other payment for the contract. Geralt couldn’t be foolish enough to take Aylir on. He’d leave; I wasn’t worth avenging.

I contemplated running, but I knew that Aylir had men amongst the soldiers who’d stop me at a gesture from their Prince. Plus, where would I go?

I reached his room, his breathing chasing me up the halls. I wondered if I could fend him off with something, but then finally, through the terror coursing through me, his words registered.

_Once I’m done dealing with you, I’ll make sure he doesn’t interfere in my business again._

He was going to kill Geralt.

I realised then that the quicker he was done torturing me, the quicker I lost consciousness, the sooner he’d send men on the dark task to kill the witcher.

I couldn’t let that happen. I had to stay awake for as long as possible, until Geralt came back.

That was if Aylir didn’t kill me first.


	5. Ghosts

I came to consciousness with a gasp, all at once. My heart was racing and every inch of me hurt. My eyes were almost completely swollen shut and my mouth tasted of blood. I ran my tongue over my teeth, to see if any had been knocked out. I’d thought I’d lost one when Aylir had kneed me in the face, but apparently he’d just loosened it.

My magic was near depleted; I could feel the lethargy and weakness taking over me as my body attempted to heal, to draw me from consciousness again, to let me sleep while it repaired my bruises, cuts and broken bones. 

I willed my eyes open and saw that I was alone in Aylir’s chambers. I lifted my head and felt numerous bones and muscles protesting. I tried to prop myself up on one arm but felt something shift and cried out. My wrist was broken, perhaps in more than one spot. I tried my other arm. Sprained, but I could manage. I’d have to.

I managed to stagger to my feet, hunched around myself, cradling my broken arm to my chest.

Blackness stirred at the edge of my vision again, but I willed it away.

“Just...make it to the door, Reina.” I muttered to myself. My voice was raw; despite my best efforts, I had screamed a great deal.

I left a trail of blood on my way to the door. I had slashes on my legs--nothing life threatening, presumably--but I wasn’t sure how far I was going to make it. I needed to warn Geralt. To tell him about Aylir.

I reached the door, staggering against it. Bitter tears streamed down my face. It was going to take too long to get anywhere. And if someone saw me…

“They’ll think I’m one of Geralt’s monsters!” I laughed, and realised I was losing myself to madness and pain as hysteria began to bubble within me, erupting from my mouth in painful, bloody giggles as I slumped against the door. I willed myself to calm the mania, to get a hold of my sanity. I could fall apart later.

I had but one last option; to call upon my goddess and hope she heard me here. If I could save Geralt, my death would not be in vain. Each step reminded me I should not be alive. I could not survive this much pain.

I awoke again, slumped against the door. I’d fainted again, and I had no idea how long I had been unconscious for. It couldn’t have been long, since I was still upright. I steeled myself, and rested my forehead against the wooden door.

“Ljunara...Goddess of the moon and shadow. Please...send a blessing to this wayward child of yours. Let me pass unseen and unhindered. Let your light not shine upon me, let me be hidden from sight.” I spoke in my own tongue, hoping, maybe, she’d hear me and grant me this boon. It may have been my own imaginings, but I felt a sense of coolness wash over me, as if I’d passed into a dark shadow.

I opened the door and moved into the hall, which was deserted. Leaning heavily against the wall, I began the trek down the stairs, in the direction of the stables. If I could get on a horse...all might be well. I could reach Geralt, warn him--if it wasn’t too late already--and then pass into the gentle embrace of the afterlife, to see my family again.

I must have passed out a few more times on my way to the stables. Either that, or my mind was entering some sort of fugue state; I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten from Aylir’s room to the stables, who I’d passed or seen. What paths I’d taken. But suddenly I was there. I felt like laughing again, and a few uneven laughs escaped me, sending pain shattering through my body until I managed to stop the dark mirth. 

It took a while to find a horse that didn’t snort and shy at the smell of blood on me. I couldn’t possibly get all the gear on the creature, so I’d have to ride bare-back. Yet another hurdle, but the knowledge that Geralt was in danger because of me drove me onward. I couldn’t let harm befall him after all he’d done for me. I’d come so far...

I managed to clamber onto the horse with the help of a fence in the yard, after guiding the horse out into the darkening yard. It was later than I’d thought; I must have been unconscious for nearly an hour in Aylir’s room. I hoped I would get to Geralt in time…

I steered the horse to the south road and urged him onward, digging my heels into him and demanding his speed, his haste, to get us to the south side of the island as soon as possible. I leaned into his neck, both of us bent forward, as he streaked over the path and onto the road.

***

“Breathe…” I muttered to myself. I was becoming delirious, and I could feel sweat intermingling with my blood on my face. I had passed out again on the horse, who thankfully had not slowed, but I’d knocked my face against his neck. The pain from my broken nose was what woke me, as fresh blood spurted from my mangled face.

I could hear my parents speaking to me, and I could see them at the edge of my vision. I was either hallucinating or I was dying. Or both. I was beyond caring, driven by only one thought.

_Find Geralt._

It turned out not to be that hard. Perhaps I was being guided by my Goddesses, or my loved ones, still there at the edge of my vision. But I knew where to go, and followed a hunter’s trail off the main road that led to the harbour. As the path turned more and more wild, I heard the sounds of fighting.

My horse burst through into a clearing. Geralt was surrounded by bodies, and a few soldiers who still yet drew breath, but he was quite outnumbered. A few looked up as I entered the clearing, and I knew what I had to do. I charged at them, unarmed, hand outstretched. The first one seemed taken aback I was reaching for him, and reached back, surprised. As I touched him, I threw myself off my horse, my hands finding his skin as I did something I’d never done before, something that I was quite sure would kill me.

I ended his life.

I connected with him, reaching with my powers into his body and stopped his heart.

By the time we both hit the ground, he was dead.

I rolled off of him, my broken arm pinned beneath me, got to my knees and vomited. I was sure it was just blood, at this point. Somehow, I got to my feet. One of the soldiers--Geralt had clearly used my entrance as a distraction to dispatch yet another one--turned to me, giving Geralt the chance he needed to thrust his sword through the man’s armpit, the tip of the sword coming out through the man’s neck. With a wrench, Geralt pulled the sword back out. Another life left it’s body and so close was I do death that it hit me like another blow, my stomach churning again, bile threatening to rise.

I lurched towards the soldier closest to me. There were three yet remaining. If I could kill one more…

“Reina, stop!” Geralt was shouting, but I didn’t listen. I had to help. Even if it meant my last breath…

I fell to my knees and watched as Geralt killed another soldier with skillful precision, sending the man’s head flying. It landed next to me in the grass and I collapsed onto my side, staring at the dead man’s face. Strange, he looked like my father...and the body next to him was my mother.

“Ada...Ama.” I sighed, my breath stirring the blood soaked grass around me. My eyes were heavy, so heavy.

“Soon, daughter.” Many voices rang in my ears. “Soon you will join us…”

“Soon…” I breathed, my eyes finally closing as the last of my energy left me. I was distantly aware of another man’s dying scream as Geralt finished him off. Feet appeared in front of me. And then blackness.

_Home._

I would go home.


	6. Hazy

“Who is she?”

“Just heal her, Yen!”

“Her magic is...strange. I may not be able to help.”

“Just try. She almost died trying to save me.”

“I’ll do my best.”

_Voices. A woman’s. A man’s. One familiar. One not._

***

“We’ll need Ermion’s help. Her body is rejecting my magic. Where did she even come from?”

“Dovir’s castle.”

“How on earth did she get purple hair?”

_The woman is back. Her voice is becoming familiar, heard in snippets. She sounds collected. Calm. Cool._

***

“I don’t know if she’ll make it…”

“She’s made it this far.”

“She’s strong. She’ll live.”

_A new voice, a man’s. A strange accent. Strange magic in my body. Why can’t they leave me be? Can’t they see I’m dead…_

***

“I think she’s stabilized. She’s stopped convulsing.”

“I think we’ve done all we can.”

***

“Geralt...it’s time to go. We have to find Ciri.”

“We’ll look after her, Geralt.”

_Women speaking. The same cool woman as before. Her voice is soothing. The second woman speaks with a strange note of music. An accent I’m sure I’ve heard. ___

__  
_ _

***

“Do you think she’ll ever wake up?”

“Only time will tell. Her heart is still beating.”

“If she dies...I’m not going to be the one to tell the witcher.”

“Stop being such a baby, Hjalmar, and fetch me more water.”

_Snippets of songs. Lullabies, maybe. A man, singing. Is it my father? I don’t recognise the tune or the voice. Why can’t I recognise anything? I thought the afterlife would take me to my loved ones._

***

My eyes fluttered open and I did not know where I was. It was not the same feeling as when you awaken and forget where you are, but then your memory catches up with you, and the disorientation of remembering where you are recedes. This time, memory did not seep back in, lulling me into a sense of comfort.

I did not know where I was. I’d never been to this place before. It was not Dovir’s castle, nor was it home. I began to shake violently, chills taking over my body though I was sweating. Suddenly, a man’s face loomed above me. _Aylir…?!_

I began to scream.

Doors slammed and the man above me recoiled, just for a moment, then began to speak in reassuring tones, with an accent I still couldn’t place. 

“Shh, Reina, ye’re safe. Ye’re safe in Kaer Trolde.”

I stopped screaming but this man--this man!--was too close! I shrank into the bed, trying to get as far away as possible. All I could see was Aylir’s face. He’d come to finish what he’d started.

“Stay away!” I cried out. “Please...please don’t hurt me anymore!” I was sobbing wildly. Aylir was everywhere, he was going to get me! He was going to hurt me again!

“Folan, get away. Can’t ye see she’s terrified?” A woman’s voice took over, and her face appeared by the man. He turned his head and disappeared from my view. I calmed somewhat, tears still streaming down my face as I stared at the woman. I distantly registered her full lips and scarred face, a circlet crowning her red hair. Her look was one of pity and she held up her hands in front of her, settling beside my bed in a chair.

“Reina...can ye hear me?” Her words were soft. I blinked, nodded, my body still shaking. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks. “Good. My name is Cerys. Ye’re in Kaer Trolde, under my protection. No one will harm ye here. Have some water.” Her musical voice carried over me, and I obediently sipped from a cup put to my lips. It tasted sweeter than water, with a bitter aftertaste. But I drank deeply, feeling increasingly sleepy with each draught.

“Thank you...” My eyes began to close on their own accord. Something...in the water?

“Rest, now.” Her voice chased me from consciousness and I entered a sleep without dreams.


	7. The Lady of Kaer Trolde

The next time I awoke, light was streaming through the windows, bright against my eyes. My head felt clear, clearer than it had since...since before I’d found Geralt. I couldn’t remember anything beyond what the woman named Cerys had told me. I was in Kaer Trolde. I was safe.

I sat up in bed, and found myself alone in the room. There was little in the way of furnishings; the bed I was on, a small table beside the bed which had various bottles and herbs scattered on it, as well as a basin full of water and a cloth settled on the edge. A slightly herbal smell wafted from the water, and I found it oddly comforting. Another, larger table sat by a window opposite my bed; all was cocooned beneath high ceilings.

I swung my feet out of bed and assessed myself as I sat up.

My arm was in a sling, and my body was covered in bandages, wrapped around various parts of me. It hurt to breathe deeply, a panging in my chest alerting me to the fact that I had healing ribs. My nose felt tight and sore and, having had my nose broken before, I knew my eyes would be shadowed by deep bruising.

But I was alive.

I bowed my head. Hot, happy tears streamed down my face.

I was alive.

And even more shockingly...

_...I was free._

I heard a distant noise, through the open window across the room from my bed. The noise of metal against metal, a grunt and then a man’s laugh. I stood slowly, letting my body adjust to my new, even more upright position. I was wearing a thin shift and wondered for a moment where my clothes were, before drifting to the open window.

The sun shone bright overhead, clearly illuminating the courtyard below my window. Two men were practicing swordplay below; both large, both bearded, though one was blond and the other red haired. The red-head appeared to be the better swordmaster, his footwork strong and his movements deliberate.

I continued to watch them, and heard the door to my room open. I whirled, my hands going from my side to my chest, as if I was curling around myself, ready to drop down and make myself as small as possible.

It was Cerys again, with a maidservant; an elderly woman, her hair pulled back in a kerchief. My attention was quickly drawn back to Cerys, however, and I became fully aware of the striking image this woman posed. I’d only dimly registered her before, and now my eyes were better able to fill in the blurry picture her appearance had first painted.

I dropped my hands, but not before I noticed the pitying look on her face.

“Ye’re finally awake.” She said, sounding pleased, quickly replacing her look of pity with one of joy. “I don’t know how much ye remember…” She trailed off, as if in invitation for me to fill her in.

“It’s all a bit hazy.” I said, my voice quiet from lack of use. “I remember snippets of conversation, names, voices...song.” I paused, searching her face. “How….how long have I been asleep?”

“Near on a fortnight, since ye got here.” Cerys said, shaking her head. “And Geralt said ye’d come from Dovir’s island, which is another fortnight of sailing.”

“A month.” I gasped, then shook my head. “I’ve been unconscious for a month?”

“I’m surprised ye’re not dead, to be completely honest.” Cerys said brusquely. “Geralt brought ye here, looking hardly human, ye’re face and body were so mangled. Ye held on though, strangely enough. Long enough for Geralt to find someone tae help heal ye.”

“Ermion. And Yennefer…” Their names came to me through the foggy memories. Cerys nodded slowly.

“Aye. Ye remember that?”

“It comes in snatches.” And trying to dig through my memories was giving me a headache. I turned to look back out the window, back at the practicing pair, before speaking again. “You said Geralt brought me here. Where is he?”

“Back in Novigrad, I expect, with Yennefer.” Cerys replied. I could hear her approach, coming to my side. “He’s on a very important quest.”

“Finding Ciri.” I nodded slowly, even that feeling like a great movement. “...saving her from the Wild Hunt.” Cerys looked at me sharply, and I drew my face away from the window to look at her. “Am I...wrong?”

“No, ye’re spot on.” Cerys said, sounding puzzled. “How did ye come ta know Geralt?”

“He didn’t tell you?” I asked. Cerys shook her head, leaning against a table and crossing her arms, watching me.

“Didn’t have much time. He brought ye in, asked that we help save ye, and then once it was clear ye weren’t on the brink of death anymore, he and Yennefer left.”

“Of course.” I was upset I hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye, but that couldn’t be helped now.

“So...how did ye meet Geralt?” Cerys asked again.

“I met him at Dovir’s castle.” I said softly. “He was taking care of a monster problem the King had. He was prevented from leaving the island because of the storms.” Cerys nodded, knowingly. “He...was a friend. He protected me from…from...” I closed my eyes and felt hot tears burn behind them. I felt a chill run down my spine, making me shudder with memory, and I could not hold back the flow from my eyes as they opened larger, meeting Cerys’ in a silent imploration.

“It’s alright. Ye don’t have to say more than that.” Cerys said gently, her voice and tone softening more than I’d thought possible. I gulped and nodded.

“I want to be able to say more but…” I stammered, my throat feeling tight, sore at the effort of stemming my tears.

“Some wounds take longer to heal.” She said, understanding in her voice. I nodded, silent. “It’s alright; ye’re welcome here as long as ye need.”

“Thank you.” My appreciation was sincere, my voice quavering. I took a deep breath, and looked back out the window, using my free hand to wipe away the moisture on my face. The men were still practicing, and it became even clearer that my previous assumption had been correct when the red-head pointed to the blond’s feet and gave him instructions, which the blond followed.

“I can tell the lads to practice somewhere else, if the noise is upsetting.” Cerys offered, noticing the source of my attention.

I shook my head. “No. It’s not, I just...I feel very lost.” I let out a deep breath. “Who are they, anyways? I recognise one. He was here earlier...I’m afraid I frightened him.”

Cerys let out a small laugh, peering down at the pair. “Aye, ye frightened us all, awakening as ye did and shrieking like a siren. Folan will get over it, though. Besides, he was the one welcoming you back into the world of the living with his ugly mug. What could he expect?” She shook her head, then side-eyed me. “Ye...do ye remember any other time ye awoke?”

“Just the once.”

“I figured.” She sighed. “There were five times. The time Folan was there was the first.”

“What happened the other four?” I asked, a sense of foreboding starting in my heart.

“Well...most of the others were much the same. It was worse with Hjalmar and Folan, ye did no’ react so badly ta Ermion. After the third time, we stopped having men in the room with ye. It helped.” She said gently. “Ye’ve some recovering to do, and...no’ just the physical kind.” She didn’t say it unkindly. She pushed off the table, uncrossing her arms. “But I want to tell ye right now; Folan, Hjalmar and Ermion will ne’er hurt ye. Ermion is a druid, and worked hard tae save ye, and has a long history with Geralt. Hjalmar is my brother, and while he’s a bit of a fool, he’d no’ hurt a hair on ye’re head. Same goes for Folan.” I picked them out, identified the pair in the courtyard below. “We grew up together and he’s a noble sort. A bit like Geralt.” She paused. “It may be...unavoidable for them to be around ye. We’re trying to make ye as comfortable as possible--”

“While also not having me screaming my face off at the sight of the opposite sex?” My tone was blasé but I was mortified; I could remember all of these interactions that Cerys was mentioning now, and my reaction had been the same each time; to scream until my throat was raw, or I returned to unconsciousness. Whichever came first.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Ye clearly underwent something...horrendous.” A thought seemed to strike her. “The last man ye might see is my father, Crach. He’s...actually probably the most terrifying of the lot. I’ve encouraged him tae stay away, at least for now.”

“I’m so sorry.” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut. 

“Whatever for?” Cerys asked flippantly.

“For disrupting your lives. For being a...burden.”

“Ach, don’t ye worry lass!” She exclaimed. “It’s been a bit of a madhouse here anyways, what with the coronation.”

“Coronation?” I asked stupidly. She smiled.

“Aye. Skellige named me their first queen.” My mouth popped open, and I attempted to sketch a quick bow, respect winning out over bodily function. Or, not entirely. As I rapidly ducked my head, I became dizzy and felt myself losing balance. Cery’s hand went to my good elbow. She steadied me and spoke. “Let’s avoid the formalities, yes? Last thing we need is for ye to die from a curtsy.”

“I--I didn’t know.” I apologised.

“And how could ye!” She said, hand still on my elbow. The touch was comforting, though part of me wanted to recoil. “Ye were on Dovir’s island, and Freya knows that man’s no’ much concerned with what goes on beyond his borders. Not to mention, ye were unconscious most of the time ye’ve been here.”

I nodded. “Still...I’m sorry I haven’t paid you the respect due--”

“Oh, come off it.” She waved a hand. “Ye’ve other things to worry about. And I’m no’ about tae hold it against ye.” She finally stepped away, eyeing me. “Now, I can only imagine how hungry ye are. We could only get ye to drink a few sips of water, and ye were already a waif when ye arrived. If ye go on much longer, ye’re like to disappear into thin air!” She gestured to the door. “I’ll send Helleg down to the kitchens tae get ye some food--”

“Could I...could I eat somewhere else? I want to…” I tried to find the right words. “I don’t want to be trapped in this room. I--I think I’ll be okay.”

“If ye’re certain…” She gazed at me, an unreadable look in her eyes, though I thought it might be admiration. “I can come with ye.”

Habit struck, and I was about to wave her offer off, but I bit back the words and nodded, necessity winning out over constraint. “I’d really appreciate that.”

“Of course. But ye can’t go wandering around Kaer Trolde in naught but ye’re shift. We’ll get ye dressed first, then down to the kitchens.” She seemed to be processing this, mulling her thoughts over.

I looked back to the window and saw Hjalmar and Folan had stopped their practice and were perched on a low wall. Hjalmar was turned away, clearly talking animatedly, arms moving wildly with the telling of a story or something of the like, and Folan was clearly listening. Just as I was about to turn away, Folan looked up and met my eyes. He froze, a soft smile on his face, and he half lifted his hand, as if to wave.

I smiled softly, feeling bad for having screamed at him. Perhaps I’d be able to apologise later, if being near him didn’t prove to send me into a fit of terror. I had no idea what was going to happen when I left this room; my body no longer felt like my own. Everything hurt, and even the most distant noises had me scared.

Still, the more pressing matter was that of food. I was indeed famished. So I changed into a dress brought to the room for me, with some help from Helleg and Cerys, who manoeuvred my broken arm through the sleeve. Then they tossed a grey and green plaid overskirt overtop, and cinched it around my waist with a large swath of black fabric, securing it in place with a belt. Cerys had not been lying; I’d always been slight, but I practically disappeared in the clothes. I wondered how much of my ribcage was visible.

“Yer fine dress, I’m afraid, was covered in blood, and torn in some places.” Cerys said, as she helped me lace up some shoes.

“That’s fine. It wasn’t mine anyways.” I replied. 

“Ye don’t have to tell me right now, or ever, really, but how did ye come to be at Dovir’s castle? It’s a long way from...well, anything, and ye’re clearly no’ a native of the isle.”

I smiled. “I’m from a kingdom called Vermahna. I came to your world through a portal, though I still don’t know who summoned it.” I shrugged. “But it dumped me on Dovir’s island, last winter.”

“Ye didn’t bring yerself here, through the portal?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Portals are far beyond my magical skill.”

“Ye have magic?” She asked, helping me re-sling my arm and get to my feet. I’d sat on the bed while she helped me with my shoes. I’d tried to brush her off but she wouldn’t hear it. 

“A bit…” I faltered, and then suddenly realised what felt so _wrong_ since I’d woken up.

_My magic was completely gone._

Suddenly, my injuries made sense. Normally, the wounds I’d experienced would have healed in a matter of days, my body gradually using up magic to heal myself. But I’d been so close to death, my body had likely used up all my magic just to keep me alive, until there was nothing left. It was nothing short of pure luck that there had been enough to keep me alive while my body healed naturally, at least enough to wake up.

I turned to Cerys. “How old would you say I am?” I asked suddenly. She started, looking confused, then slowly replied.

“About...thirty, I’d say? Perhaps older.”

“Of course.” I nodded. “Makes sense.”

“How old _are_ ye?”

“Forty-two.” 

“Nae!” she gasped.

“Yes.” I nodded. “It...has to do with my people’s magic. How it presents in our bodies.”

“Like ye’re hair?”

I turned to stare at her. “What colour is my hair?”

“A light purple. If ye look really close, there are a few strands of grey, though.” Relief washed over me. It must have been apparent on my face, for Cerys followed up by asking. “Is that...good news?”

“My hair has been this colour as long as I’ve been alive. I think maybe if it was different, it would mean I couldn’t ever do magic again. Perhaps.” I mused aloud.

“Sounds like we won’t find out now.”

“No. That’s not...something I’d like to figure out ever.”

“Ye said ye’ve a bit of magic?”

I nodded. “Nothing at the moment, though. Magic from my homeland is different from what you have here.” I’d picked up as much from my conversations with Geralt, his talk of sorceresses and mages. “We have to...charge ourselves, accumulate the magic. Once it’s all gone, we have to seek out more. My magical energy, let’s say, was completely drained keeping me alive.”

“How do ye charge it?”

“A ritual, of sorts.” I said. “But I’ll worry about that later. Now, I just really need some food.”

Cerys laughed. “Aye, we did say something on the matter. Let’s go.”


End file.
